Angels With Fangs
by SolarRose29
Summary: "Tell me why would a soldier refuse to carry a weapon...unless it was to tear his enemies apart with his bare hands."


"Tell me that's not…" Bruce never finished his sentence, frozen in the doorway as he took in the scene.

Beyond where the others were gathered around the observation window, was a massacre. Blood spattered the glass, a fresh spray hitting directly in front of Tony's face. He stumbled back, eyes darting to his teammates. They all looked sickened. Even Natasha, the most impassive person he had ever met, appeared pale. Tony glanced into the room again, only for his gaze to skitter away. Swallowing bile, he leaned an arm against the wall, bracing his forehead against it as he struggled to reconcile the image of the virtuous war hero of his childhood with the psychopathic murderer before him now. There was slight movement behind him and he turned his head to watch Bruce approach the window in a daze. Tony pushed himself up, intending to offer whatever comfort was possible in the face of such a monstrosity, when he caught sight of Barnes off to the side. The man was standing with his arms crossed and the most nonchalant expression on his face. Disgusted, Tony crossed the room in a few short steps and snatched him by the front of his uniform.

"How can you stand there and be so calm when your best friend is in there…" Tony's mind stuttered for a moment, "slaughtering all those people? Doesn't this bother you? Isn't this the sort of thing that should make you, I don't know, freak out a little?" He shook the other man, though he himself was trembling.

Bucky had the audacity to smirk at him. "Oh, you don't know?"

Tony's outburst grabbed the attention of the rest of the team. They were staring at the pair of them.

Bucky noticed, and even as he returned his focus to Tony, he addressed all of them as he continued. "Then again, how could you? It's not like they exactly put it in the history books. That'd be bad for business. After all, who would buy tarnished gold? You see, America's Golden Boy loves to kill."

Tony released him, rearing back in shock. Bucky smoothed his hands down his front as if brushing off Tony's touch.

"Hell, he even enjoys it. You should have seen him back in the day. Ah, the things he did." Bucky sighed as if savoring a sip of aged wine and faced the window fully, spectating the carnage. "Mm, the things he did to those soldiers. To those poor townsfolk too, if they happened to be in the way." He cast a sideways glance at Tony, before he abruptly clasped his hands behind his back and swiveled toward his audience once more.

"I don't know, maybe it's because we grew up so close but I always saw that little spark of fire in his eyes. And I'm not talking about moxie here. I mean hell fire. You've heard about all those fights he got into. The underdog standing up to the bullies. At least, that's how the story's supposed to go, how it's supposed to be remembered."

Clint shifted uneasily.

"But those history book writers weren't there." Bucky leaned forward, like a parent about to inform a child of a splendid secret. "They didn't get to see what I saw. The way he went at those fellas in all those back alleys. How he got their blood on his knuckles and smiled." Suddenly he straightened and tilted his head, adopting a more thoughtful tone. "Mr. Stark, your father worked closely on Project: Rebirth and I've no doubt you've gone over his notes extensively. Perhaps you've stumbled across a quote from Dr. Erskine about the magnifying properties of the serum." His voice lifted upwards as if asking a question and he allowed time for a response. But Tony was silent. So Bucky continued.

"If he had a taste for blood as a ninety pound asthmatic, you can only imagine his blood-lust as the world's first super soldier."

Natasha's voice was hardly above a whisper when she spoke. "It's not true. It can't be true."

Bucky held up a hand. "Now now, there's no need to call me a liar. Even if you won't take my word for it, you can see it with your own eyes." He gestured to the blood spattered window, a grin spreading across his face.

"Tell me why would a soldier refuse to carry a weapon...unless it was to tear his enemies apart with his bare hands."


End file.
